Dirty Little Secrets
by The Dark Loremaster
Summary: Everyone has secrets, but when those secrets harbor deadly consequences that become more than what the members of the NCIS: LA team can handle, more than just their lives might be on the line.
1. Prologue

**Dirty Little Secrets**  
By: The Dark Loremaster

**Rating**: T [PG-13]

**Feedback**:  
Feel free to submit a review.

**Spoilers**:  
This story may contain information from the television series.

**Disclaimer**:  
I do not own any part of the NCIS: Los Angeles franchise. I am simply writing a story based on their characters and the settings provided through the series itself.. Any characters not part of the franchise are of my own creation and are present within the story to continue it along. Some may have bigger roles than others. I do ask that you do not use my original characters or my original storylines without my permission.

**Summary**:  
Everyone has secrets, but when those secrets harbor deadly consequences that become more than what the members of the NCIS: LA team can handle, more than just their lives might be on the line.

* * *

Prologue- 

"Mr. Fujimura, your car is waiting."

Deep brown eyes glanced up at the concierge as the young man gave a polite bow, a sign of reverence that had transcended the tests of time. It was a gesture he could respect, one that had been allotted to him much like he had given to so many others has a younger man and as a child. Even now, he still gave the greatest of respects to his elders in the form of a bow, and the return bow always made it clear that the sign of respect was accepted and deserved. It brought a small smile to his face as he gave the young man a slight nod of his head, his eyes watching as the man stepped away and left Fujimura alone with his thoughts and with his drink. It gave him some time to consider the mission he was currently on, the trip that he was about to take in order to reach Washington, D.C. with a package he was so careful to keep an eye on. He considered it to be a great honor from one of the top leaders of the Yakuza.

Wrapping his fingers around his glass, he nudged the briefcase with his foot to make sure that it was still resting there on the floor. This simple item was the reason for his trip, the reason he was waiting ever so patiently for his car to take him to the airport. He knew that he would not receive any difficulties going through inspections, especially since the briefcase consisted of nothing but papers. It was what the papers contained that made the contents of the briefcase so precious, so valuable that it had been entrusted upon him. It was an honor, truly. The top hierarchy of the Yakuza did not always leave the most precious of items in the care of ones they had barely met. It left him feeling indebted for the trust, making it more desirable to accomplish the task at hand with great precision.

Picking up his glass, he finished the last bit of his beverage before he slipped out of the booth, his fingers latching onto the briefcase's handle. There was only one leg of the journey left, and that required him to head to the airport and board a one-way flight to Washington, D.C. Once there, he would be given instructions on what to do next. Everything had to be handled properly if his business arrangement was to be a success. So far, everything had gone according to plan. The pesky FBI agent was dead. The two seamen were accounted for and long buried so that they would not cause any trouble. All the pieces were put into place, and he had been the one to conduct it all from the deepest of shadows. But he knew that he could not relax, not until he was on his flight and out of Los Angeles. Only then could he breathe.

Taking a deep breath, he left a few bills on the table for a tip and headed toward the exit of the hotel's bar. He needed to make it to the awaiting vehicle in order to make it to the airport on time. It would not behoove him to be late and miss his flight. After all, he had a very important meeting once he landed in the nation's capitol.

"Mr. Fujimura!"

The sound of his name brought him to a halt. He turned around, his eyes snapping in the direction his name had been called. He saw the young concierge heading toward him, a jacket draped over one arm. There was a gentle smile on the man's face as he stopped in front of him, holding the jacket out for him. Fujimura closed his eyes for a brief moment, chuckling softly. How foolish of him to have forgotten his jacket. He undoubtedly would have looked unusual in a suit without a matching jacket, and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Reaching out for the garment, he gave the young man a nod of gratitude.

"I wouldn't want you to forget your jacket, Mr. Fujimura."

Wrapping the fingers of his free hand around the jacket, he pulled it from the young man's arm. For a moment, he could not deny the fact that he had been worried, figuring that his intentions had been discovered. But it was only his jacket, a starched fabric that came with his suit. He had to remind himself that he had taken care of all of the loose ends. Agent Monahan had been shot and killed; the news and his own insiders at the hospital had confirmed that. Jonathon Meyers, the seamen he had thought he could trust was gone, drowned in an underground tank. There was no one alive that could finger him. No one. He had to remember that.

"I thank you."

His voice was smooth, his English fluent as he spoke. Seeing the young man give another bow before excusing himself, he turned back to the exit of the hotel, his eyes spotting the black car that was waiting for him. Crossing the hotel's lobby, he gave a nod as the doorman opened the portal to the outside, allowing him to slip through without so much as a hitch. With his feet touching the concrete of the sidewalk, he felt that mild nervous energy course through him as he approached the car, the chauffer holding the door open for him. A ride to the airport, and he was ready to go. Within a few hours he would touch down in Washington, D.C., deliver the briefcase and accept his reward, and be on his way. A few more hours, that was all.

The door closed, and he watched as the driver got into the vehicle and started the engine. Fujimura grasped his cellular phone, quickly looking information up on the driver. The man was bald, his skin a medium tone of brown, and he was dressed sharply in a black and white suit. He had been professional, doing everything that was expected of him, and Fujimura found comfort in the notion that he was with the right person. The credentials matched up as the car started to move into traffic. He allowed himself a small breath. Everything seemed to be turning out all right, if he did say so himself.

"How are you doing this afternoon, Mr. Fujimura?"

Fujimura glanced up, spotting the driver's dark eyes glancing at him through the rearview mirror. He offered a slight smile as he settled in his seat, still holding the handle of the briefcase. He had not expected the chauffer to start up a conversation, and he thought it would only be polite if he continued it. That was the American custom after all, and it would make the drive seem even shorter.

"I am fine, thank you." He glanced out of the window, watching patiently as the cars moved past them in slight blur of motion. Soon enough they would hit the freeway and be on their way to LAX. He could already feel the nervous twinge sweep through him as he returned his gaze to the rearview mirror, watching the driver carefully. "My daughter's birthday is tomorrow. I am anxious to return home." He saw the driver give a smile.

"I can understand that. I have a daughter of my own." The driver was staring intently into the rearview mirror before Fujimura noticed that he signaled and shifted lanes. He pressed his lips together as the nervous twinge grew stronger. Something in the back of his mind told him that everything was not as it seemed.

"Is something the matter?" He forced himself to keep the words steady as he questioned the chauffer.

"Just seems we have someone going in the same direction. That's all. Nothing to worry about it."

Did he dare breathe? He could trust this driver, right? He had to trust this driver. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the black car that was in the lane behind his own vehicle. Something about the car seemed oddly familiar, but, then again, this was Los Angeles. Everything seemed familiar because there seemed to be duplicates of everything. He had noticed that on his first trip to the city years ago when he was a teenager.

"I'm going to take another route. I don't like how this guy keeps riding my tail."

Fujimura gave a nod of agreement, watching as the driver signaled again and took a turn down another street. He turned quickly in his seat in time to see the black car continue on along the other road. Letting out the breath he did not realize that he was holding, he returned to his seated position and rested his head back. It was just a coincidence. That was all. At least, that was what he continued to tell himself. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply in order to slow his heart rate as he tried to relax once again.

But his attempt at relaxation came to a grinding halt as the chauffer slammed on the breaks, bringing the car to a squealing stop. Fujimura quickly glanced in front of him, hearing the driver mutter a curse. He could see the black Dodge Charger in front of them, the driver already out with a gun aimed at the window. Another set of tires hitting the pavement told him that another car was behind his, effectively blocking the vehicle from any exit. Both of his hands gripped the briefcase tightly as he struggled to think of what to do, where to go. A simple car trip to the airport had turned into an ambush, and that was something he found terribly uncomfortable.

"Seems these people are insistent. I think it's best to just do what they want." Fujimura's eyes were wide as he realized the driver was watching him.

"Yes, yes of course."

The man in front of the car was motioning for them to get out of the vehicle, and slowly, he managed to unbuckle his seat belt and ease the door open. He had to make a decision, any kind of decision. Stay and get caught by these people, or run as fast as he could so that he could dial someone, anyone, on the phone to be backup. He could telephone the police, anybody. Setting one foot and then the other outside of the door, he slipped out of the seat and into the sunlight of the hot summer day.

"Put the briefcase down, Fujimura!" The man that had been in front of the car was talking to him, raising his voice to ensure that he was being heard. The man's blond hair was tousled and unkempt, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. Chancing a glance behind him, he spotted a woman with dark hair and dark eyes aiming a second gun at him. He had never seen these people before, never. What in the world did they want with his briefcase?

He did not wait for an answer as he took off in a run, ducking down another alley with his briefcase clutched to his chest. He needed to put as much distance between himself and those with the guns. He just had to.

"Going somewhere, Fujimura?" He skidded to a stop as he realized that another person was at the end of the alleyway, her blonde hair pulled back behind her shoulders. He felt the surprise creep upon his face as he recognized her. How…how was she still alive? Kudoh had sworn to him that she had been died in the hospital.

"How…why are you still alive?" A smile crossed her lips as she stepped forward, preventing his exit. Her left arm was in a sling, and he could see the whiteness of the cast behind the fabric. There were a few bruises that covered her face, indicating the beating that she had received at the hands of Kudoh. Her body language was stiff, and he quickly attributed that to the bullet wound in her back.

"I found that I couldn't rest quietly in my grave, not when you're running around preparing to cause more trouble."

There was a click of a gun behind him, and he swallowed the lump that was developing in his throat. The FBI agent he had been told was dead was standing in front of him. A glance behind him confirmed his suspicion that the NCIS agent, the one who had pretended to be the seamen, was also still alive, the man's blue eyes sharp and directed to him.

"I would suggest putting the briefcase down and coming along quietly. I think you'll find that I have a much better offer for you than the Yakuza when they find out you betrayed them." He pressed his lips into a frown as he returned his attention to the FBI agent, her own blue eyes staring hard at him. She was giving him an option, a way out. Did he dare take it? "Did you hear me, Fujimura?"

"Yes, yes I did. I surrender. I surrender."

He set the briefcase down on the ground and took a step away from it. Whatever this woman had to offer, he knew it would be better than facing an untimely death at the hands of the Yakuza. Hearing the other agent step up to him, he slumped his shoulders, allowing the man to zip tie his hands behind his back. His trip, his plans, the mission he was supposed to accomplish had been foiled, and the only question he had for himself was how. How did this all happen when he had been so careful?

"You made the right choice, Fujimura."


	2. Chapter 1

**Dirty Little Secrets**  
By: The Dark Loremaster

Chapter One- 

-Two Months Earlier-

"Okay, how long has she been sitting in Callen's desk? Does she even know that's Callen's desk?"

Marty Deeks shifted his eyes from the blonde sitting at the desk to his two comrades, the questioning gaze apparent in those brown eyes. He had been watching the woman for the better part of twenty minutes, and not once had she even indicated that he was staring her down. Part of him felt insulted by the lack of acknowledgment, but the other part of him felt safe from any potential ridicule he might suffer had she made notice of his actions. Or maybe, she just had patience of a saint and simply chose to ignore him. Somehow, he felt that he could believe the latter, especially given her appearance – very professional. In a black pencil skirt, a pale blue button-down blouse, and what looked like a pair of possibly expensive diamond earrings, she looked like a professional. From what occupation, he could only begin to guess, but he had quickly ruled out the LAPD. No woman he had ever seen there dressed quite like that. In fact, he could almost liken her to a model in a magazine, if it was not for the sharpness in her blue eyes and the slight hardness around her features. Still, he would not say that she was unattractive. She just was not his type. Glancing back at her for just a brief moment, he returned his attention to Sam Hanna and Kensi Blye. Perhaps they had an answer.

"What do you think?" He whispered. "Think she knows?"

"I think you're just over thinking this."

Sam's voice spoke up a little louder than a whisper, catching the woman's attention. Bright blue eyes turned to regard them before they shifted back to the file folder she had been reading ever since he had stepped inside. Deeks felt himself narrow his eyes as he stared at Sam. The last thing he had wanted to do was gather the woman's attention, or maybe he actually did. After all, it would mean that she would have had to acknowledge him in the first place. Slowly his eyes turned their gaze back to her, trailing down her face to the file folder resting in front of her. Whatever it contained had to be interesting enough to hold her attention, but that was as far as he regarded the folder. He was not willing to risk asking her. Instead, he grabbed his seat at his desk and opened up the laptop that was sitting there.

"Can you say it any louder?" He let out a grumbled whisper as he briefly looked at Sam before returning his attention to the laptop.

"I heard every word, Mr. Deeks."

He swallowed, chancing a glance at the woman. She was quietly observing him, the file folder closed. Her hands, long and slender, were neatly folded on top of it. An eyebrow was arched in question, but she never voiced a word of any inquiry. He even swore that he saw the faint quiver of a smile grace her lips, a motion that softened the edges of her features. He cleared his throat and pretended that the laptop was more important, even though he knew that he had been caught. The question was – did he actually mind? If not for the fact that he was plagued with feelings for a certain brunette, he might have tried a distraction and wooed the pretty blonde. But he was still holding out.

"Nice going, Deeks." There was a slap on his shoulder as Kensi stepped past him on the way to her own desk. He only made a noise of embarrassment before typing in his password to get into the laptop. He found himself swallowing again as he tried to keep humiliation from creeping onto his face.

Pausing his fingers on top of the keys of the laptop, he looked back at the blonde again. She was no longer observing him. Instead, her eyes were closed, making her appear as though she was deep in thought. But seeing if she was still silently watching him was not why he was staring at her. She had called him by his name. How did she know his name? He was pretty certain he had never seen her before, at least until now. His thoughts on the matter were broken apart when a sharp whistle sounded in the air, gaining the attention of everyone on the ground floor.

"Hetty would like to see everyone upstairs."

Eric Beale stood at the balcony, the silver whistle he had just used clutched in his fingers. A serious flare was about him, one that Deeks was sure he did not see all too often. Then again, seeing the man dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, he had always found it a little hard to take the man seriously, but he was good at what he did. Most of the cases, perhaps all of their cases, relied on his work after all. Rising from his desk, he saw the other man move back into the room before everyone else rose to their feet. His eyes glanced at the other woman as she stood up, her hands smoothing the front of her skirt before she started for the stairs, file folder in hand. He lingered behind a moment before he followed Sam and Kensi up the stairs to the mission room where Hetty was already standing, waiting for them.

Like Eric, the petite woman looked severe, and it was clearest indication that whatever she was going to tell them would be of importance. Her horn-rimmed glasses were perched on her nose, making her appearance all the more serious as her lips pursed together. Deeks had seen her look like this before, dressed in pantsuit of darker-colored material with that kind of look on her face. There was an importance to this particular mission, one that must have struck home within the older woman's heart. He chewed the inside of his cheek for just a moment before he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, watching as Hetty's eyes shifted from the group as a whole to the unknown blonde that had joined them.

"Ah, Miss Monahan, I take it your flight was smooth?" The blonde woman offered a smile, one that Deeks was certain was a smile exchanged between two companions. It only strengthened the curiosity he was feeling.

"It was fine. It's not the first time I've had to take the red eye out of D.C. I just want to get this case going. My people are anxious for an update." Her people. Somehow, he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The mention of her people narrowed the list of possibilities as to who she was and what organization she must have been a part of.

"Of course."

Deeks felt himself straighten his posture as Hetty turned to face the three of them, acknowledging their presence within the room. Glancing at Sam and Kensi, he saw that they had similar looks on their faces, and it told him that something was going down, a mission that could very well be a difficult one. And it all had something to do with this Miss Monahan. Seeing Eric key in a few items on the main computer, the screen behind Hetty came to life with brilliant hues of blue before images started to appear. Nell was standing next to Eric, the tablet computer already in her hands so that she was ready to maneuver around the screen as necessary. Hetty was wasting no time in getting down to business.

"I would like to introduce you all to Miss Leslie Monahan. She will be our FBI liaison for this assignment." There was a curt nod from the blonde, and Deeks felt himself shift slightly in discomfort under her stare. FBI presence changed the game, making it a tricky thing that would have to be handled carefully. And, matters of jurisdiction seemed to always bring out the worst in everyone, something he hoped they could avoid for the sake of their own sanity. But, maybe there would be a chance that she would be different. She did dress differently than most FBI agents he had come across, but appearances were only skin deep, or so they said. He could not be certain if there would be a difference in the atmosphere, especially since they had only just been introduced. "This is Agent Hanna, Agent Blye, and Mr. Deeks."

"Mr. Deeks and I have already met." There was a slight touch of amusement in her voice, one that brought the slightest of frowns to Deeks' face. He really had to find out how she knew about him. "I appreciate the introductions. I wish that they could have been under much better circumstances." Monahan was looking at the group, her eyes searching for something else. "I thought your team had four members."

"It does." Hetty spoke up to answer the thought, catching the FBI agent's attention. "The fourth is currently on assignment." Monahan gave a nod, apparently satisfied with the answer that had been provided. Turning to the screen Eric had fired up, she tucked back a few stray locks of blonde hair behind her ears.

"All right then." He saw her swallow, but he failed to place an emotion behind it as she continued speaking, her voice taking on an authoritative tone as she did so. "I would rather not waste more time on formalities. I would rather we got right to business." Several pictures flew across the screen, each one slightly overlapping the other. They depicted scenes of dead bodies strewn in various locations, some in uniforms, some in plain clothes. Deeks was certain they all had a connection to the case at hand. "There have been a string of drug-related deaths throughout a number of port cities across the country and in Hawaii. Normally, the FBI would not dabble in these matters, leaving it up to the states, but we believe these deaths are more than what they seem. We believe they are related to crimes brought about by the Yakuza presence in the United States.

"Last month, my informant within the Yakuza was found murdered in his home. Thus far, I have not been able to locate the culprit. I was able to obtain the electronic files he stored on his computer, giving me an evidence trail as long as some of the Yakuza members' rap sheets." There was a tone of regret in the woman's voice, and Deeks felt himself feeling for her. He could tell that she felt responsible for the death, but he also could see that she was aware of the fact that the informant knew the dangers that he would be in. That did not mean she would feel guiltless. But, he noted the passion in her eyes, that deep blue fire that burned with a desire to solve this case and put those responsible behind bars. He could respect her for that, he really could.

"My informant let me in on some developments within the drug rings that Yakuza has their hands in. There's been a new drug to hit the markets, and some of these victims died from overdoses of this new drug. Others were dealers who were murdered because they might have known too much about the inner mechanisms of the organization. They all have one thing in common – they are all naval seamen of varying rank, some were former and some were still active. The most recent death" – an image of a young man, perhaps no older than twenty, was brought to the forefront – "was here in Los Angeles. The LAPD found his body three days ago in a dumpster. I came to understand that NCIS would be taking up the initiative in solving the case, which means we will work jointly."

Deeks stared at the picture. There was something about the look of death that seemed to send a shiver down his spine. The man's eyes were sightless, unseeing and frozen in grip of death. Blood pooled around his body in a thick liquid of crimson, staining his plain shirt and jeans and darkening his brown hair. It was clear that the man was shot, but where was not so easy to obtain. He suspected it was in the back or somewhere else under the body, but he found himself not wanting to linger on the details. He caught a brief look at the blonde's face and the emotion that filled those steely eyes. This case had to be hard on her.

"I believe he was a dealer that helped to distribute the new drug here from overseas. He was stationed in Okinawa and returning home on leave when he was gunned down. So far, the police and myself have not had any luck in tracking down leads, but I do have a couple names my informant managed to give me."

Another series of pictures flew across the screen, and Deeks saw Nell tap something on the tablet. A picture of a Japanese man, perhaps in his late twenties, surfaced first. His normally dark hair had been dyed a rich blond and cut in such a way that it flared away from his head. It reminded Deeks of some hairstyles women might wear, but he knew that there was a growing trend in Japanese rock bands to opt for this kind of look. Coupled with what appeared to be a flowing top and black vest, the man was almost certain that was what this particular man was going for. His eyes, which were a dark brown, held an edge to them, one that Deeks did not like. This man had to be an authority figure, someone in an upper level of command, and he was willing to bet that the other would not even think twice about killing another human being.

"This is Eru Kudoh. My informant indicated that he was the one running the show from the lower levels, with suspicions that someone else higher up the food chain was pulling the reins. Last seen, he was in Honolulu, but I'm willing to bet that he has since traveled to the mainland. The main distinguishing mark on him is the scar on the left side of his neck. What all he is capable, I'm not entirely certain, but I know that he is dangerous.

"The other" – another picture surfaced, this time of a Japanese-American woman who appeared to be in her thirties – "is Aiko Takashi. Apparently she is Kudoh's second in command. A former Marine sniper, she's ruthless. It is highly possible that a few of these deaths can be attributed to her, especially the one of my informant."

The woman was attractive, but her eyes were sharp and rather chilling, giving Deeks the distinct impression that her beauty was only skin deep and potentially dangerous. With the credentials listed, he could see why Monahan had used the word ruthless. It took a special type of person to be a sniper, to have the kind of skill that was needed to gun down someone and not think twice about the command that was given. But there was something else that he had noticed in the agent's voice – there was a bitter tone, one that made him question what other feelings the woman might have about the other. Without knowing Monahan's own past, he could not simply come up with a straight answer.

"And what role are we playing in all of this?" Kensi spoke up, breaking the silence that had followed Monahan's explanation of the two key players. He looked at the brunette, seeing her eyes carefully watching the blonde woman who was now observing her, her face set in an unreadable mask.

"Infiltration." The word was spoken so simply that Deeks was taken back by the sheer authoritative power that the single word held. Monahan took a breath before running her fingers through her hair. Was there an internal conflict on her part? He could almost see it travel across her face. "The Yakuza may be the big players in this ring, but they still need key members within the groups they are using. I have made arrangements for Agent Kensi to go undercover with the Navy. Agent Hanna already has naval connections. Mr. Deeks, I figured you could use your connections within the LAPD to see if there are any crimes that might have ties to this case. There have to be more leads out there." There was determination in her voice, one that was both fierce and passionate.

"I think I know some people who owe me some favors." Deeks offered her a slight smile. This case meant a lot to her, and he felt that he could do his fair share to help accomplish the goals. Besides, it took bad guys off the streets of LA. What better win-win situation could that be?

"Miss Blye, I believe I have just the right outfit for you." Hetty motioned with her hand, and Kensi moved to follow her, pausing once next to Monahan. There was an exchange of looks, but Deeks could not figure out the meaning behind it before Kensi disappeared with Hetty.

"I do appreciate the assistance. I know that the FBI can have a bad reputation for overstepping boundaries. I would much rather work as a team than try to take away jurisdiction. I hope you can understand that." The sincerity was present in her voice as she spoke, something that was equally reflected in her eyes and on her face.

"Just remember that when things get rough." Both sets of eyes directed their attention to Sam, his comment bringing forth a small frown. But, she only nodded before she stepped away from them, heading toward Eric and Nell to discuss information that was located within the file folder. Deeks heaved a sigh, already starting to move back toward the staircase before he muttered a comment.

"Where's Callen when you need him?"

* * *

"It's about time you showed up, Meyers."

Callen kept his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He had dressed very casually for this meeting in faded blue jeans, a slightly wrinkled black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Even the tennis shoes he wore were older, worn out with excessive use. And this time the outfit did not come from Hetty's closet of clothes. It came right from the source. His normally blond, short-cut hair had been dyed a rich brown to match the shade that the man he was impersonating had. Everything else about him, his eye color and height, nearly matched the man to a tee. Even the real Jonathon Meyers had been taken back by his appearance before he had left the interrogation room earlier that morning.

Earlier that morning. That reminded him of just how long he had been awake. Hetty had contacted him just after two a.m., requesting him to show up at the boathouse. There had been a sense of urgency in her voice, along with the commanding air that she always had, and he felt obligated to get there as fast as he could. With only enough time to grab a pair of day-old jeans, a t-shirt and his jacket, he had showed up just before 2:30 a.m. prepared to hear what Hetty wanted. What he had seen was Hetty standing in front of a screen, watching a man who was in the interrogation room, waiting for whatever was to come to him. The look on Hetty's face had spoken volumes, and he did not question her motives then, much like he refused to question them now.

_"I will be interrogating Mr. Meyers. You will take care to recall how he acts. You will need that information, Mr. Callen."_

And he had done just that. Every question Hetty had posed to the man had been straight to the point, allowing him to pick up the behavioral cues that he would need. Every minute detail had been studied by him until Hetty had exhausted the suspect, leaving him wringing his hands in his t-shirt. Once the task was completed, she had informed him of his assignment, that he was to go undercover as the man she had just questioned. There was little time to prepare, nothing more than she gave him, other than an address and a time. And here he was, speaking to the very man he had just started to learn about before heading out here. The only thing that currently worried him was the fact that this was a joint mission with the FBI. Not much good came from FBI involvement.

"Sorry for being late. Traffic was shitty."

Although brief, he had recalled the mannerisms he had observed, from the way the man talked and the words he chose, to how he slouched and made himself appear. It was all part of the scheme. Playing his cards right would mean that Kudoh would not question whether or not he was authentic. From there, he could work on his mission, on gathering the intelligence needed to solve a murder case that had brought the FBI to California in the first place. He had not met the liaison, but from what Hetty had told him, the case was in good hands. If true, he could appreciate that. Returning his thoughts to the task at hand, his blue eyes watched as the Japanese man stepped forward from where he had been sitting, a wide smile on his face.

"It usually is this time of day. I suppose I can forgive you for that."

Eru Kudoh. Called dredged up the information that he knew about the man. With dark blond hair and deep brown eyes, the man did not appear to be twenty-seven years old. He looked younger, like a college student, but Callen was certain that he had not attended college once in his life. Dressed in dark blue jeans and a snug, white long-sleeved shirt, he looked like the average American, blending in with the melting pot that made up Los Angeles. A regular pair of tennis shoes only strengthened the notion. If Callen were not aware of how dangerous the man could be, he likely would not have thought twice about the man.

"It's been some time, my friend. The last time I was in Okinawa, I had just missed you." The man draped an arm across Callen's shoulders, and it was clear that the two men were something akin to friends. Following the motions, he allowed Kudoh to lead him to another room. Entering through the doorway, he spotted another individual sitting on a sofa, a laptop computer resting on her knees. Hearing them step into the room, she lifted her eyes up and looked away from the screen to observe them directly. He could see the calculating glance in her eyes as she watched him.

"You look a little different, Meyers." The woman was staring directly at him, quietly observing him closely. He maintained his cool, knowing that the outfit and the hair dye had worked to make him look like Meyers, although slightly thinner and more muscular.

"Hey, it's been a few months, Aiko. Give the man a break, yeah?" The woman arched an eyebrow as she glanced at Kudoh, her lips set in a frown. Closing the laptop, she placed the device on the sofa cushion next to her. Rising to her feet, she extended a hand in greeting, one he returned. "See? The old lady probably told him to lose it or get lost. Am I right?"

"Yeah, she told me she'd kick me to the curb." Callen gave a chuckle, maintaining the character he was perceiving, but Aiko did not join in. Instead, she was still giving him a series of once-overs, likely trying to make up her mind about how she felt about him and about his appearance.

"She always was a bitchy one." The nonchalant tone of voice was something Callen had not been expecting, but he was determined to work with it. Giving a nod of agreement, he felt the man step away from him and shut the door. "You made it just in time. We've been busy cleaning up the loose ends. It's time for you to do your part."

Kudoh motioned to a table, pointing out a picture that was resting on the shiny metal surface. Littered with pictures, Callen was quick to notice that they were all of one person – a blonde woman, relatively young, but the hardness of her features that gave her a more authoritative appearance. But, he could calmly say that she was youthful and fresh looking, pretty even. Yet, the question that passed in his mind was not just who she was, but why was she being targeted? Glancing up from the photographs, he locked eyes with Kudoh as the man stared at him, his humor gone and replaced with a very serious expression.

"Speaking of bitches, I left this one for you." He pointed to the picture that clearly defined how the woman looked, her blue eyes piercing and her blonde hair pulled back behind her shoulders. Kudoh placed his palms down on the table and leaned forward, his voice deeper than it had been before. "I got rid of the FBI's informant in Hawaii. I knew he couldn't be trusted when I first saw him, but those above me said he could be, because he was one of us." There was a subdued anger as he spoke, something that Callen was quick to pick up on. "He was working with her, and I owe this bitch for what she did to me."

Kudoh motioned to the scar that was present on the left side of his neck. Jagged and paler than the man's own skin tone, the scar was highly visible and very noticeable. Callen remembered seeing it when he had stepped inside of the warehouse. It did not take him long to put the pieces together. This woman, this FBI agent, had tried to take him out in some way, but had clearly failed, seeing as the Japanese man was standing in front of him. And it was clear that the man wanted revenge for it. In a way, it reminded him of Marcel Janvier, the Chameleon, a man who had sworn to seek his vengeance by destroying what Callen cared for the most. So far, he had felt lucky. His coworkers, his family if you will, were still alive and breathing…and safe. At least for the moment. But Callen knew that he would do anything to protect them if Janvier was ever free to harm again.

"And what do you want me to about her?"

Kudoh's smile was cold as the man straightened up. Aiko joined them at the table, dropping a gun down on the surface. When he spoke, his words were frigid and filled with a desire to punish the woman for her transgressions.

"I want you to bring her to me. I don't care how you do it, but I want her alive."


End file.
